The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(85)

His heart faltered when he saw them on the other end of the boxes, headed for the exit. There was no sign of Clarissa. Striding over to them, he asked in Italian where his wife was, but when they exchanged looks of alarm and started protesting that they knew nothing, he didn’t waste his time with them. He broke into a run down the path behind the boxes where they’d just been working.

As he neared the end of the first row, he heard Clarissa’s voice. With a relieved sigh, he slowed to a walk. Until her words registered.

“You’re a liar, sir. There’s no way on earth that my husband’s father was a traitor. I don’t care what evidence you claim to have, or what you think you can prove—”

Edwin vaulted around the corner of the box to find his wife facing down Durand. “Get away from my wife,” Edwin growled, quickly putting himself between them.

“I knew you hadn’t told her about the spying,” Durand said with a sneer. “She would never stand for being married to a traitor’s son. So if you’d said anything, the two of you wouldn’t be here pretending that this wedding is a love match.”

“It is a love match!” Clarissa spat from behind Edwin.

That momentarily threw Edwin off guard, even knowing she was just trying to get rid of Durand.

“Really?” Durand said coldly. “Blakeborough is in love with you? Does he know what a little whore you are?”

Fury inflaming him, Edwin caught Durand by the throat and squeezed. “I warned you not to bother my wife. I swear, I’ll kill you right here and now, just for such a vile lie—”

“No, no, no, you can’t!” Clarissa cried, dragging on Edwin’s arm. “Or you will hang for it, and I cannot lose you, too!”

That last remark was the only thing that cut through the red haze in his head. He released Durand, who stumbled back choking and coughing.

After a moment, the bastard growled, “For that, Blakeborough, I challenge you to a duel at dawn. Over your wife’s honor, which I maintain is scanty at best.”

“Don’t listen to him!” Clarissa cried as Edwin bristled again. “Can’t you see he’s goading you? He wants to kill you so he can get to me. You must not fight him!”

Durand gave a mocking laugh. “That’s all right, Lady Clarissa, he’s not going to accept. Everyone knows he despises dueling. Most cowards usually do.”

“Ah, but this won’t be a duel,” Edwin said coldly. “It will be justice. For your tormenting my wife, trying to force her into marrying you. For frightening her and plaguing her, for nearly assaulting her, and daring to cast slurs upon her character.”

“Edwin, no,” Clarissa said.

Durand ignored her to stare Edwin down. “Does that mean you accept my challenge?”

“It does. Choose your seconds, and I shall see you at dawn at Green Park. Pistols are my weapon of choice.” He turned to Clarissa. “Come, my dear, we’re leaving now.”

By tomorrow, he meant to be rid of Durand once and for all.





Twenty-Three


Clarissa managed to hold her tongue until their carriage pulled away. Only then did she face him, shoulders set. “You can’t do this.”

“I can and I will. It’s the only way to stop him.”

The hard edge to his voice made her despair. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t. I happen to be very good with a pistol.”

“I’ve no doubt of that. But if you kill him, you will end up accused of murder, forced to flee.”

“Unlike your brother, I need only say that the bastard impugned your honor. No jury will convict an Englishman for defending his wife from a Frenchman.”

“Not just a Frenchman. A French diplomat. With high connections in both governments.”

He dragged in a heavy breath. “It will be difficult for us socially for a while, but . . .”

“. . . not nearly as bad as if your father is revealed to be a traitor. Is that what you’re thinking?”

Edwin released a coarse oath. “I never wanted you to know about that.”

Her heart sank. “So it’s true, then. Your father really was a traitor.”

“It appears he was.” Edwin rubbed the back of his neck. “Durand showed me the reports written in Father’s hand, which were apparently made on Father’s jaunts to a certain private opium-smoking club in London.”

“Opium! Your father smoked opium?”

“I’m not sure. For years, I’d assumed so.” His breathing grew labored. “When Mother died, I went looking for Father, so the servants were forced to send me to that club. That’s how I learned of his association with it. He wouldn’t speak of it at all, so I deduced he went there to indulge. But apparently he was going there to speak to soldiers and sailors and glean information for the French.”

She sat back against the seat. “I can’t believe it. I know your father had his weaknesses, but to be a traitor to his country . . .”

“It came as a shock to me, too.”

“And you’re sure these ‘reports’ aren’t forged?”

“They certainly looked genuine. And clandestine activities would help to explain why Father was always running off to London and abandoning us.”